To Save Everything
by cato as a pun
Summary: A few years in the future, Mohinder doesn't know quite how to define his relationship with Sylar, but he feels it's all he has left, and he's not ready to let it go. AUish, I guess... Mohinder/Sylar


**_Summary:_** A few years in the future, Mohinder doesn't know quite how to define his relationship with Sylar, but he feels it's all he has left, and he's not ready to let it go.  
_**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Heroes' or its characters. _

_**Spoilers:** Lets say all of Volumes 1 & 2 to be safe._

_**Warnings:** Implied boy on boy sexuality. :D Angst, angst, **angst**. Oh, and language. Teehee!_

* * *

Everyone has their 'right fit.' Everyone finds_ that_ person, 'the one.' The one who is supposed to make you whole and finally allow you to awaken to what life really is; the one who would give anything to ensure your happiness. Everyone has that person… right?

Mohinder Suresh isn't sure. Though he's been told this all his life, had the simple _alleged_ truth drilled into him since birth, he has come to find that life simply isn't that easily summed up. That person isn't always the one who makes everything okay.

What if that person comes into your life under all the wrong circumstances? What if that person comes into your life and brings with him everything you were ever sure was 'evil' or 'wrong' in the world? Is it supposed to be that difficult? That confusing and complicated?

He's heard all the different stories of love from all around the world, and true, sometimes the men and women of those stories had to struggle and fight against a number of obstacles to finally get what they so desired.

None of those stories come close to matching his.

He remembers that things were simple, once… but that was years ago. It was a whole other lifetime. Since then, he's lived through and seen all sorts of things that, during those simple times, he would have deemed impossible: exploding men, virus-curing blood, people who could move things with their minds and come back from the dead.

But, even all that had been easy when compared to the past several months. Things have gotten completely out of control in his world; people are here one day and gone the next. The little girl he'd come to see as his own, and the friend he'd found in the telepathic cop, had left him a year ago, when Parkman had decided he and Molly needed to go into hiding. As best they could, anyway.

Mohinder stayed behind in New York to offer Petrelli and the others who were still alive any assistance he could. Sometimes he feels that he just gets in the way, but Peter always insists that isn't the case.

The only thing that hasn't changed, the one thing that has forever remained constant, is Sylar.

Since the moment Mohinder first saw him, even though he knew him then as Zane Taylor, he has never truly left. He's been gone at times, yes, especially during periods when Peter is around, but he always comes back one way or another.

Mohinder sighs, glancing over at Sylar who sits with his back propped up against the headboard of Mohinder's bed, his eyes closed in thought. Only a sheet covers his otherwise naked thighs and his chest rises and falls gently, glistening with the sweat of sex.

It's only a matter of time before he'll turn to Mohinder and say "Get some sleep before Petrelli puts you to work again… I'll see you," or "I should go while it's still dark." Then, if he's in an exceptionally good mood, he'll kiss the geneticist goodbye before inevitably leaving quickly and without speaking another word.

It's become their routine: Sylar shows up without explanation, without needing it, and one way or another, they fall into bed, caught up in touching and tasting each other. During those moments, the Indian loses all sense of 'wrong' or 'right.'

He loses his grasp on everything because the only thing that matters is the feel of the other man's skin against his own, the feeling of mattering to him, if only for a short while.

Afterwards, however, he hates himself. He hates himself for needing it so badly, for not resenting Sylar for his obvious detachment. He knows he is nothing more than a fuck every now and then to the other man, yet he doesn't care. It's almost enough that, for just a little while, he can make the taller man happy, or something like it. He doesn't always like that he desires it, but he can't deny that he does.

Is that what 'being whole' is supposed to feel like?

That can't be what all those stories meant, he knows that. But, he doesn't care. To him, it _is_ being whole. It tears him apart when the other man isn't near… that's whole, right? Or does the other party have to feel the same way to make it 'real?'

"Mohinder." Sylar's even whisper cuts through the silence hanging thick and heavy between them, and the doctor is pulled back into the moment.

Their eyes meet and Mohinder feels his heart sink as he realizes that he is only minutes away from watching the other man leave again.

"Yes?"

"I have to-"

"—go. I know." The doctor almost blushes at the clear-cut disappointment in his own voice, and he lets his gaze fall to the mattress between them.

Normally, this is the moment when Sylar stands, pulls his clothes on and exits the apartment, but he doesn't. Instead, the Indian can feel his dark, piercing eyes burning into him from where he still sits.

They sit like this for several seconds, seconds that feel like years to Mohinder as he waits for something, _anything_, to happen.

Finally, he looks up, letting his eyes meet the killer's and half-smiles.

"Aren't you leaving..?

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Sylar snaps, glaring before continuing, "There's something I need to say first."

Mohinder waits again, his eyes searching the other man's face for a clue as to what he means. Of course, he finds nothing there. Just a relaxed, emotionless visage, calm and unreadable as it always is.

A beat passes before Sylar speaks again.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm leaving."

"I know… you said that already—"

"No. I mean I'm leaving New York."

The Indian sits up at this, shifting slightly so he is facing the man.

"Oh." He tried to keep his voice disinterested as he says, "For how long?"

Sylar shakes his head and lets out a groan, standing suddenly and moving to dress himself. He doesn't look at the geneticist as he continues.

"I don't know, Mohinder. Forever, maybe." The words fall from his lips smooth and soft, as if they were the easiest words in the world to speak; this only adds to their excruciatingly painful effect on the doctor.

"Forever? You can't be serious—"

"Yeah? Well, I am."

Mohinder's head is spinning now, and he can't seem to focus his eyes anymore. His lungs are constricted, and he can't breathe.

_Forever. _

Sylar pulls his jacket on and begins to zip it up as the doctor tries to piece together what exactly is going on.

_He's leaving… forever_.

Just like everyone else.

"But… I—you—" Mohinder stammers, finding himself unable to think, let alone formulate a coherent sentence. A loud, thumping noise drones painfully in his ears, and it takes him a moment to realize it's his own pulse.

"Don't think about it too much, Doctor." Sylar sneers before glancing at the man once again. "And… get dressed. You look pathetic."

Mohinder barely hears this; he's still stuck on 'forever.'

Being separated from Sylar was hard enough, but at least before, the geneticist had known that, eventually, the killer would come back to him, and they'd be together.

Even if only for a short while.

How could he last _forever_?

Having completely clothed himself once again, Sylar starts for the door. Mohinder leaps up immediately, grabbing his own pants and pulling them on hurriedly before following him into the living room.

"_What_ are you doing?" the taller man asks, turning to face Mohinder as he stumbles out of the bedroom.

"You can't leave-"

"Yeah, I can… you'll survive-"

"And if I don't?" the doctor grabs the other man's arm and clings to it. He can feel the desperation quickly flooding his insides, and knows he needs to make his point. If he has to beg, he will; he can't lose Sylar now.

"Let go, Mohinder-"

"Please… I-I get that this doesn't mean a thing to you. Really, I get it. And, that's always been okay, I've never complained! But, I… you're the only thing that makes any sort of twisted sense to me anymore-"

"Really?" Sylar steps angrily towards him, so they stand face to face, "this makes sense to you? _This_? Well… you need more help than I thought, then… And, you're right. You _don't_ mean a thing to me. Not anymore."

Mohinder feels his grip fall from the killer's arm as nearly every organ in his body shuts down completely. He'd known that fact, of course, but hearing it spoken aloud…

"See you around, I guess," Sylar mumbles, leaving through the front door and slamming it behind him.

The doctor stares blankly at the door for some time, literally feeling nothing. His mind can't get a hold on any one of the countless thoughts chasing each other around in his head, and so he is spared the pain for a while.

Soon though, the floodgates break open, drowning him in the incredible anguish that had managed to build up inside him in that short time. He falls into a kitchen chair and sobs openly.

Not that it matters… who's left to hear it?

It is empty in the hallway of Mohinder's building, and for that, Sylar is grateful. He wants to keep moving, but he can't. Every step he takes toward the outside, every step away from what he's just done, is like being stabbed again, over and over and over.

In fact, he wishes he _was_ being stabbed. He deserves it.

But, he made a promise to himself a few days ago: For Mohinder's sake, he needs to disappear. The Indian has enough wrong in his life without sleeping with the enemy, and Sylar can now clearly see that all he is doing, all he is capable of doing for the doctor, is making matters worse.

For a moment, when he'd pressed himself inside Mohinder and been enveloped by his warmth, he'd almost talked himself out of it. He'd reasoned with himself, thinking _Mohinder needs me, he _needs_ me_.

But, the falsehood of that statement had been made painfully clear only a short time later, when the doctor had simply _taken_ Sylar's mistreatment.

It wasn't all that long ago when he would've been snide right back, when he wouldn't have let _anyone_ talk to him in such a way, especially Sylar.

But now, now he took the abuse. He took and acted as though it was just another part of his everyday life; like he deserved it.

Sylar had broken him. He'd taken advantage of him, and he had broken him.

So, now he has to leave. He needs to let Mohinder find himself again, learn to be the strong, defiant person he once was, the man he was before he lost everything.

It hurt immensely, making the doctor believe that he truly meant nothing; the shock that had filled his soft brown eyes had almost been too much. He had almost given in and taken the man in his arms right then, but he couldn't. The killer knew it was the only way to save his geneticist, and it had to be done.

So now, Sylar leans against a wall, trying to regain his balance. From here, he can hear the doctor crying now, and it tears him completely apart. Leaving was never easy, but this time, it's worse. This time he knows he can never come back.

With one last glance in the direction of Mohinder's door, he continues, eventually stepping out into the chilled darkness and disappearing into the shadows.


End file.
